


Bonding With Portals

by gvarchangel



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Portal - Freeform, Portals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gvarchangel/pseuds/gvarchangel
Summary: I'm only slightly posting this to prove I wrote things for ME other than Tali and Male Shepard. Like Garrus and Female Shepard. In a totally friendly, non-romantic way. (Yes, that was sarcasm.)Anyway, was actually a gift for a friend ages ago who wanted me to do something with her Shepard, Garrus, and Portal. I will say that it is slightly based off how the friend and I know each other, and they greatly appreciated that part. But it was fun, thought you guys might like to see it here.





	Bonding With Portals

“I thought you were in charge of equipment purchases,” Garrus remarks bitterly as the Requisition Officer approaches again.  
“I am,” the human repeats for the fourth time. “But I need senior approval for large orders. The entire suspension system of the Mako qualifies. The tax payers will cover everything after you get her to sign this form and give me 20% as collateral. It shouldn’t be a problem for you: scuttlebutt says that’s nothing compared to what you’re finding on the ground.”  
The Alliance soldier releases the sheet, and the Turian takes it in a gloved hand. Damned organizations and their paperwork. At least C-Sec converted to digital. Humans are still a few years behind the trend, as usual. “Alright. And we’re not as rich as you think. Shepard's shotgun cost more than most of your organs. I’ll be back.”  
Vakarian, in his usual efficient stride, heads into the elevator for the upper levels. His mind briefly wonders if Shepard’s in a cooperative mood for once.

While waiting on the lift to deliver him, he notices the extra grime on his gloves and tries to wipe it on his pant thigh. The Mako's oil gets on everything and almost makes him want to wear his combat armor while doing repairs on the battered tank. But it's uncomfortable enough in loose shirt sleeves and cargo pants; the rigid gear would only make it worse. At least he's not particularly attached to the outfit, and the full length sleeves conceals his alien skin. Keeps him mostly clean, and the humans don't constantly remark on his “weird hide,” as a junior lieutenant said years ago.  
The door finally opens up, not a soul in sight. There's strange electronic noises coming from Shepard's room around the corner, signaling her location. Joker also seems to be present, based on his loud curses every few seconds. His most striking phrase is, “Jump, you fat bitch!” Shepard adds a chuckle as an accent to each shout.  
Only slightly curious, Vakarian approaches cautiously. The door to her personal quarters is open, explaining why the sounds are so loud. The pilot and commander have placed chairs in front of a vid screen and are sitting side by side. Joker has a white piece of plastic in his hands that he's mashing maliciously. She's leaned back and enjoying the show Garrus still doesn't understand.  
Shepard’s a little dirtier than usual with the ketchup smear across her lap and wrinkled GI clothes, but that’s probably due to the lazy, mission-free day the ship’s had. The cleanliness of her pale skin and flame red hair, as well as the slight scent of flowers, means she had at least enough motivation to shower this morning. Why humans do that so frequently, he still couldn’t understand. But she does look better when she’s bothered to maintain herself: her hazel eyes are far more pronounced when her face is clean after bathing. And her Marine build is clear enough, no matter the clothing she’s using to hide it today.  
He knocks on the wall beside the door. “Am I interrupting something?”  
Shepard chuckles again when Joker screams at the screen. “Just Moreau arguing with the laws of physics.”  
“Physics has nothing to do with why I can't grab the ledge and climb,” the pilot retorts. “Especially since I just survived a four story fall.”  
“I told you, she can't put down the gun. It's a puzzle, like everything else,” she laughs.

“The Turian is lost here,” Vakarian comments as he enters. “Is this a human thing?”  
“Not unless you don't have video games on Palaven,” she chuckles and points to the screen. Joker seems to be standing in an industrial building, based on the metal and wood interior. He’s looking through the character’s eyes and holding a strange device in his right hand. The vent a few feet off the ground seems to be his objective, but he can’t jump high enough to get in.  
“Turians have digital entertainment too, Shepard,” he retorts. “But my father wasn’t a fan, never let me play them. I had to settle for watching my friends at their houses.”  
She seems taken aback. “You had friends?” Before he can counter, she laughs again. “Kidding. Well, it’s an ancient human one, so I doubt you’ve heard of it.”  
“With good reason, if you can’t even climb into a vent,” Joker grumbles after another failed leap.  
“Think with portals, and all will become clear,” the Commander prods.  
“I AM, DAMN IT!” The controller slams into the table in front of them, and the pilot storms off. “Portal logic, my ass…” Internally, Vakarian considers Moreau lucky the temper tantrum didn’t just break six of his bones.

Shepard chuckles, checking the controller for damage. “Remind me to give Kaidan a twenty at dinner.”  
“Had a bet on how long he’d play?”  
“I said an hour at most, Kaidan doubled it. Joker’s been in this room for the three: he wins,” she admits. “I’ll try Tali tomorrow, see how she does before we dock at the Citadel. I bet she likes puzzles. Did you need something, Garrus?”  
He waves the form before handing it to her. “Need your permission for supply requisitions. I need to make some repairs on the Mako.”  
She reads it over slowly, chewing on the nails of her left hand at the same time. It’s a bad habit for both species, but that doesn’t seem to bother her. One of Shepard’s many quirks he’s noted over the last two months. There was also twirling her chin-length hair into a bun when reading, starting conversations with random strangers, and a mildly psychotic sense of humor are only highlights. But he had to admit she was effective, and a damn good Commander. She could talk her way out of almost anything, and in the rare cases that failed, no one could combine biotics and shotguns like her. He counted himself lucky to serve under her, and enjoyed almost every minute of it.  
She gives a soft whistle, signaling the completion of reading. “That’s a big order.”  
“But we need it,” he assures. “Most of those Rachni were still spitting acid when you ran over them. I’m surprised she held together long enough for us to get back. She’s not fit for duty until I can make repairs, and I need replacement parts for that.”

“Glad to hear our mechanic has my best interests at heart.” She reaches for her pen, then stops a few inches short. “Actually, mind if I hold this hostage for a minute? I’ve got an idea for you.”  
Damn it, he had a feeling about this. Her utter disrespect for other people's needs and wants didn't apply to just the Council. She was well-known for strange requests, and for making it very hard to ignore them. Adams only recently got the engine core operating normally again after Shepard asked if the “glowy energy could be green instead of blue: there's too much blue on this ship.” Apparently it’s his turn in the hot seat.  
“I don't have much of a choice, do I, Commander?” he manages through a grin. Feigned enthusiasm seems to make her more agreeable.  
She reads through the facade like it's not even there. “Oh, quit being a baby, Garrus. I promise you'll get your order placed before dinner. But since I'm out of books, you're my entertainment for the day. And if you behave, you might actually enjoy it.”  
He has to remind himself not to read into that last comment. One of his exes used the phrase when she wanted him to do something. Her form of payment is off the table with Shepard. “What's the assignment?”  
“I just want to see if you're as smart with puzzles as you are with weapon repairs,” she grins. “Play my game, at least finish the tutorial and get through one or two of the main puzzles. You're free to leave with a signed form after that.”

“That's fair,” he nods instantly. The stipulation is unsurprising, but at least it has potential to be enjoyable. It doesn’t involve more wheelies in the Mako. “Do I have to use that thing?”  
“There's nothing wrong with my controller, Vakarian. Sorry the game was made before all that fancy VR crap.” She picks up the white plastic and shakes it at the Turian bitterly. “Besides, you only need two thumbs and two trigger fingers to play. Even you should be able to use it.”  
Remembering the grime still on them, he stashes his gloves in a side pocket and attempts to take the controller from her. “Give me that before you hurt someone.”  
Surprise makes her pause with the remote still tight in her grip. Her pupils expand ever-so-slightly and lock on to his rough hands. “Damn...” she mutters.  
Vakarian knew this was a long time coming with anyone who hadn't worked with Turians before. Salarians and Asari have the luxury of their skin resembling a human's. A Turian's hands, with talons for nails and a thick hide instead of tender flesh, are foreign enough to make anyone not prepared for the sight do a double take. At least his plates only cover the backs of his hands, or they'd look even more avian. This was the biggest reason he avoided getting out of his armor. The charm of the situation wears off after about the eighth time.  
“You're not the first, and I doubt you'll be the last,” Garrus says as calmly as possible. Shepard's one of the better humans about learning and understanding other species without judging: if anyone should be forgiven for a bad initial reaction, it's her. “And yes, the rest of me looks about the same under the armor.”  
She finally releases the controller and takes her eyes off his hands. “Sorry,” she mutters, gaze trying to latch onto the wall. “Was I that obvious?”  
He flashes a toothy smile to set her at ease. At least she figured that out some time ago. “You wouldn’t know subtle if it bit you in the ass. You’re just proving my point,” he mocks.  
“Go to Hell,” she laughs. He’d never admit it, but Vakarian has a blast teasing her. As much as he enjoys being the opposite of most Turian stereotypes, it made it hard to bond with others at C-Sec. None of the other officers understood his sense of humor, so he never really had someone to joke with. Shepard, on the other hand, takes every insult as a challenge to fire back with something worse. It’s a refreshing change, to say the least.

“So, how do I start over?” Garrus asks, trying to get his hands accustomed to the weird shape of the controller. It doesn’t seem too complicated for a beginner with the color-coded buttons distinguishing each of them. He mentally thanks the spirits he trimmed his nails the other night, or he’d have a Hell of a time trying to not scratch the plastic.  
She reaches between his fingers and pushes the middle-right arrow, which brings up a menu on-screen. “There’s pause. Just scroll down to the main menu with the left stick, then hit the green button twice. All the menus are navigated like that,” she explains with a small smile. She’s enjoying this already.  
“Got it,” he says while following her orders. He pushes down until the orange bar highlights the “return to main menu” option, then double taps the “A” to open and answer the prompt. “Do I get any kind of context for this?”  
She takes her seat in the desk chair and Garrus uses Joker’s, taking care to sit close to her. If he has a question, she shouldn’t have to reach to help. “It’s called Portal, and it was made, God, forever ago. Year two thousand, or somewhere around there? You’re a test subject in a laboratory, with an AI supervising you as you navigate experiments that test you and the portal gun. All you have to do is get through the tests and not die. Simple, right?”  
The main menu finally pops up, and Vakarian starts a new game. Another loading starts to slowly fill up on the screen while he reflects on her words. “The ‘not die’ part has me concerned, Commander.”  
“It’s ‘Payton’ to you, wise-ass,” she remarks with a slight jab to his ribs. She has the strangest social cues, even for a human. “And Aperture Science had a very loose definition of science and how to further it. There were Mantis men, asbestos-filled moon rocks, time travelling bounce gel, even lemon grenades. And that was when humans were running the place.”  
Garrus’ character drops into a sterile white lab cell, complete with a tiny radio and glass walls for observation. Before he can respond, a digital voice starts welcoming him to the “Enrichment Center,” and wishing him well on his tests. He puts two and two together quickly. “The computer killed everyone and is now running these tests, isn’t it?”  
“Oh, GlaDos is a sweetheart when she’s not going crazy. You’re fine until she mentions android Hell and the military turrets,” Payton elaborates with a grin a mile wide.  
“This should be good,” Vakarian sighs, pushing his character through the bright blue circle on the wall.

Much to the human’s surprise, the Turian picks the game up quick. He breezes through the first three chambers in less than ten minutes, and has his entire portal gun within thirty. Most puzzles take him two, at most three, attempts to clear, even with the Commander trying to throw him off with insults. He finds greater-than-usual joy in walking into the elevator, leaning back in his chair, and smiling smugly at her while the new chamber loads.  
After he finishes off the final turret of the chamber with the deadly laser, Shepard punches her comrade in the ribs with surprising vigor. “You're cheating, you bastard! I know it!” she proclaims loudly. “It took me a freaking half hour to figure that one out. There's no way you beat it that quick.”  
“Maybe I'm just good,” he smirks. “Besides, how can I cheat at a video game?”  
Her retaliation is faster and more forceful than the last one, but the Turian sees it coming and blocks with own elbow. The point of his joint comes down hard on the top of her hand, making her pull back. Her biotics rip his chair out from under him before he can even think of apologizing.  
“What the Hell- OW!” Garrus gets cut short when another biotic field pulls him up, this one centered on his visor. Thanks to the mount of the back of his head, it won't come off unless he tells it to. That makes getting dragged around by it unpleasant, to say the least.  
“First, you're going to apologize,” she orders coolly, the grin on her face evidence of her amusement. “Nice boys don't hit ladies. Then you're going to take off that visor so I know you're not cheating. And your punishment for this insubordination is you have to beat the game before I sign your precious form. Got it?”  
He finally gets the release on the visor triggered, letting him free of the knife sharp pain in his skull. The cool metal of the floor feels good on the aching spot, thankfully. “Fine, I'm sorry,” he says slightly earnestly. He did hit her harder than intended, but that reaction was far from warranted. “Can I keep going before the migraine kicks in?”  
Her hand flicks, and the blue field surrounding his visor glides it to the desk. He grabs the controller before she can throw that at him too. But much to his surprise, she fixes his chair and pats it. “I'll be back,” she says as she walks out of the room. “Go ahead and start back up.”

Grumbling things that shouldn't be said around polite company, he takes his seat again and starts on the puzzle. Wrex warned him she liked to play rough, but dismissed it as the Krogan trying to get in his head. Obviously a mistake in retrospect. He clears that chamber and begins the next one when she returns. He braces for the worst, but is pleasantly surprised when she sets a drink, a small vial of dextro-friendly pain killers, and an ice pack in his lap. “Sorry,” she mutters sincerely. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”  
He shakes his head. “Just a headache: I've had worse. The visor pull was a bit much, though.” With a small cluster of pills in his mouth, he sips the chilled beverage to wash them down. He takes one more long pull of it, then realizes it's his preferred non-alcoholic beverage.  
His astonishment must be apparent, because she laughs. “Thought you'd like that. At the risk of sounding like a stalker, I saw you pick up a case on the Citadel last week. I assumed it was your favorite, so I got some in case I ever needed to thank you for something. Or apologize.”  
“Don't worry about it.” He flashes her an honest, scarily toothy grin. “It’s fine, Payton. And are you sure you wouldn't prefer Shepard: it does fit you.”  
She feigns like she's going to slug him again, but she pulls back before it lands. “You're lucky I like you, Garrus. I would've launched Wrex for that comment.”  
The Turian laughs. “Please do. I want to see his face when he leaves the ground.”  
“Get back to your game,” she orders, taking a sip of her own drink. “GlaDos won't wait forever.”

Garrus breezes through the final two chambers in minutes, dying in the poison water only three times cumulatively. And when GlaDos tries to drop him into the fire, she doesn't even get to finish her speech before he escapes the impending death.  
“Seriously, how are you doing that?” she comments as he catapults himself into the inner-workings of the Aperture Science Enrichment Facility. “I've never seen anyone figure this game out that quick.”  
He shrugs. “Experience. My father spent most of my childhood ‘preparing’ me for a career in C-Sec. Riddle books to solve, trying to figure out the killer in stories before the reveal, deductive reasoning exercises. Can’t say I enjoyed it, but the lessons stuck. I guess it transfers to puzzle games as well.”  
“Remind me to show you Psych some time, it might give you flashbacks,” she chuckles. “Being forced into it sucks, but I’d kill to be able to solve this half this fast. I wonder if that means I can read faster than you. I spent more time reading books than anything else before I enlisted, so following your logic…”  
He holds off his response until he clumsily clears a set of jumps and launches on the decaying catwalks. Movement’s still a little tricky for him, thanks to his lack of practice. “Probably. Did you prefer science fiction, fantasy, murder? Or sexy romance?”  
“Steampunk, smart ass, with a dose of fantasy.” To let him know the latest comment isn’t appreciated, her biotics nudge the movement stick just far enough he gets smashed by a set of pistons. She smiles when he glares. “Wasn’t a fan of space or future sci-fi, and most of my mom’s detective novels spent more time on the investigator sleeping around than the actual murder.”  
“That’s fair. So how’d you find this game if you didn’t like science fiction?” Free from her intervention, he clears the pistons without incident and moves to the next area. “And how much longer is it? It feels like I’m getting close to the end.”

“Maybe thirty minutes at the rate you’re going. And you can thank my younger brother for that one. The pain in the ass couldn’t figure out that last test chamber, right before being lowered into the fire. I got tired of hearing him whine, so I helped him get through it. When I saw the cooking pit and heard GlaDos’ little monologue, it bugged me not knowing what led up to it. I ended up stealing it after he was done and playing it all night to see what I missed. I was on the final puzzle when the sun came up.” Vakarian can’t help but laugh at how proud she is at the accomplishment.  
Then he makes a connection. “You never mentioned having siblings.”  
“Never said I had a birthday either, but you all assumed I had one,” she remarks with palpable sarcasm.  
“It’s a little harder to not have a birthday than it is a brother,” he counters. “Even I’ve talked about my sister once or twice. Do you two not get along or something?”  
The soft smirk on her face fades away, and she scratches the back of her head. “Kinda hard to talk to him or my dad without a Ouija board, if you know what I mean.”  
“Oh, uh…” He breaks eye contact immediately. Even with his minimal knowledge of human culture, he understands that reference. “I didn’t realize I was… Sorry.”  
She pats him on the back with a quiet chuckle. “Don’t worry, Vakarian. Time’s had plenty of time to work its magic. I still miss them, but it’s a well-healed wound.”  
“Still, I’m sorry.” He keeps his attention on the game to try and defuse the situation.  
The previous tap was much gentler than the fist nudge into his ribs. “Oh, get over it. It was a shuttle crash, not Armageddon. Now, keep going before you ruin my day off with your moping.”  
A long pull from the soda drowns out the last of his regret about bringing that up, and he feigns a smile again. “Fine. If you insist, Commander. Or Payton, as you prefer.”  
She imitates him. “Better.” 

The awkward tension of the room falls away before he clears out “the room of a thousand turrets,” as she calls it. There was something about the sight of tiny robots flying through the air that made honest smiles return. Garrus makes quick work dodging the missile launcher before coming to the dreaded vent that stopped Moreau. After a few failed jumps, and a dozen bad portals, he backs up to think. All it takes is seeing a cube bouncing through the tube above for him to do the required math. He gets the proper portals set up for the launcher to do the work for him, gathers his step stool, and hops on his way.  
Walking through the hallway, he sees the big final room through the windows. “I’m going to guess that GlaDos is in there, waiting for me,” the Turian remarks.  
“And your excellent detective skills have shown themselves once again.” Shepard seems oddly satisfied with the situation, leaning back with a soft sigh. “Good work. I didn’t expect any of the crew to beat this on their first try. All you have left is the princess herself to deal with, but that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”  
“Good to hear I can still surprise you.” He charges headlong at the evil AI to try and finish her off. He stops to earnestly appreciate her psychotic rantings for a final time before starting the process of burning the digital witch.  
It’s after he hits her with the first missile Payton gets another thought. “Hey, how long will the Mako repairs take? With the parts and everything?”  
“It’ll take me about a day’s work once I have the replacements. The req officer said the Alliance will have them ready for pick-up before we dock tomorrow. Why?”  
“I was wondering when you’d get some free time next. See, they’ve got a sequel to this, with both a single-player mode like this and a two person co-op,” she elaborates. “I only got halfway through with my brother, and you’re a good partner to finish it with.”  
He knocks the final core loose, and Garrus stops to figure out how to get up there. “Sure. I could use the distraction. But I want a chance to play the solo version first. Something tells me it will help if I do.”  
“Well, if you’ll be working on the Mako, I can leave you the game while I take Wrex and Kaidan out to run some errands. You have to take breaks eventually, right?” She picks up a personal datapad, and scrolls for a few seconds. “Yeah, I’ve still got it. Have to order another controller with the Mako’s gear, but that’s easy. Either that, or have Tali build one.”

GlaDos’ room gets bright after Vakarian throws the last core in the burner, signaling the end of the game. He leans back in his chair, content with his handiwork. “That’s true. The plan sounds good to me. I’ll finish that version, then we can work out when to beat the rest together.”  
“Alright. Gre- ah, damn,” she grumbles. “Stupid Alliance restrictions. I can’t get the game on any of the other computers here. ‘Improper use of official resources’ or some bull. Glad I brought mine from back home.”  
The Turian shrugs. “We could just do this again: you supervise and irritate me while I play it myself before we do the other mode.”  
“No, thanks, I’m not that patient. How about… I leave this room unlocked, and you come in and play it when you get the chance? I don’t mind, as long as you promise not to go digging through my drawers.” If it wasn’t for the sheer ridiculousness of that statement, he’d swear that was a challenge.  
He chalks it up to his lack of skill in human social cues. “As long as you’re comfortable with it. I won’t tell anyone what I find,” he grins.  
“Keep it up, smart-ass, and I’ll tell Wrex what you said about how he smells.” She slams the paperwork into his chest with her fingers pointed at the door. “Get back to work before I change my mind.”  
He follows orders and stands, but stops long enough to grab his visor from the desk. “Before the crew starts talking,” he jokes with a wave of the accessory. It fits snuggly back on before he gets out the door.

“Hey, Garrus,” Payton calls as he reaches the mess. He pivots on his heel to face her again. She has a smile a mile wide, one more genuine than usual. “This was fun. Thanks.”  
He nods and winks. “Anytime, Payton. It was… nice.”  
“Good answer.” She goes back to her monitor, letting her head bob to the creepy song playing from the game.  
He shakes his head and continues to the lift. While it rises back to his floor, he slips back into his gloves. The Mako still has work that can be done before the parts arrive. No point in putting that off. And as nice as the break was, it put him behind schedule. He’ll probably have to put in an extra hour after dinner to catch up, but it won’t be taxing. Might even help him sleep better.  
He steps in and starts the ride down. The soft whir of the lift is somewhat soothing and helps put his mind back into work mode. The Mako requires precision work to stay operational. Thoughts of portals and crazy AIs won’t help there.  
Something stands out when it crosses his subconscious. Based on what Shepard said, her brother died a while ago, at least several years ago. He could understand not touching the game after that, especially if he died while they were playing together. But waiting this long, then asking him to join her? Asking him. His cop senses say there’s something else going on there. It’s odd.  
He shrugs it off. He’s reading way too much into it. Her brother came up, she remembered the mode, saw an opportunity to finish it with him. Or something. Everyone copes with stress differently, and chasing a mass murdering Spectre would definitely create some. Her way apparently involves torturing her crewmates with portals. There’s nothing more to it.


End file.
